Forever left untold
by Spy for the Right
Summary: A young artist holds a viewing in the muggle world. Only four paintings, yet no one leaves dry-eyed. Not better than summary, because I probably suck at stories and summaries, because almost no one reviews. *cries.*


Okay, I have this from _somewhere_, but I have no idea which story. If you recognize it, please tell me so I can credit. Till then: anything you recognize is either not mine, or you've already read this story.

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The canvas held a single man. He had black hair, and a white complexion. Behind him, on the black walls, there was a single sign. A skull, intwinged with a large, green snake, slightly cracked, as if it wasn't worth much. Inside a stone bowl on the only table was a silver liquid. The image of a woman with sparkling green eyes and red hair shifted with the image of a young boy with the same eyes and unruly, black hair. The man had a deep look of regret, love, hatred and something everyone had yet to identify, but which was so strong that it seemed to rule the entire canvas.  
**_'Regret.'_**

The next canvas held something different. It was a single, white owl. Golden eyes spoke of intelligence no animal should posses. Her entire body spoke of freedom, of hope, and of love. Behind the owl was the night sky. Stars occasionally became red, green, blue ... colours no night holds. But it was the owl that drew the eye. For the owl was surrounded with a deep, emerald green light. Some said it held love, while others said it held death. When asked, the painter would reply with tears in her eyes that it was both.  
**_'Love.'_**

The next canvas was special. It held three people, standing beside each other in a way that shouted 'friendship'. The right one was a man, though barely. He had red hair and deep, blue eyes. In his hands he held a sword. His body language showed that he would protect the other with his life. The left one was a woman. Brown hair, kind eyes, but brave. Her eyes told a story no words ever could. She wasn't special, or pretty. She wasn't funny, or maybe not even powerful. But her eyes told everyone that she would sacrifice her life for what she stood for.  
But it was the middle man that caught everyone's attention. Many people noted it was the same man as in the bowl. And so it was. But now, black hair waved slightly in the wind, and eyes that sparkled with mirth now sparkled with an emotion so deep it reduced many to tears. The boy spoke of another story. Of a story of a boy who carried the world upon its shoulder. Of a boy who could no longer carry the weight until two pair of arms helped him lift it high, so it could shine in the glory of the sun. But even though he carried no sword, he was powerful. For he had help.  
_**'Friends.'**_

The last painting was of a little girl. Blonde hair, blue eyes, her face did not make her stand out. But her wings did. For on her back, there were two wings, like an angel's. The girl was around ten. She was slowly landing, her facial expression that of pure joy. In front of her a huge castle stood proud among the mountains. A unicorn was watching the girl, and it seemed to glow with pleasure. The painting was innocent, and happy, but everyone knew there was a story behing it. Not because it was hidden in her smile, or because the mountains seemed to shine with hope, but because it was there, it held the painting together. It was this that enticed everyone.  
_**'New Magic.'**_

_****_When asked where she got her inspiration from, the painter would smile regretfully, and explain that she had dreams and wishes.  
She did. Luna Lovegood did have dreams, and hope, but none of them belonged to the first three paintings. For all five were dead. It was the last painting that spoke of all her dreams and thought. She longed to tell the world that her greatest wish was that of a face, mixed with surprise and joy. Of a muggle-born, told of the existance of a Magic world where everything was possible.

But that wouldn't be. For not only were there no more muggle-borns, not everything was possible. The Death could not be brought back, and the Immortal could not die. And people weren't innocent.

She longed to make the Angel Girl tell her story with her eyes. A few strokes and even less whispered words, and the world would know her fairytale. For that was what it was. In a world ruled by the Dark Lord, only purebloods could enter Hogwarts. But her canvas showed a girl born among those who hold no power, slowly discovering that she belonged in a world where everything is real. And the Angel Girl longed to tell that story. But she couldn't, and she never would, for her painter knew that her world was better left kept secret, and her Girl was better kept mysterious.

And her story was forever left untold.

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Yeah, begging for reviews. I KNOW YOU ARE THERE. I know that people read my stories, yet I have only four reviews on all of them! So please, comment here, or on any other story, IDC where.

So this just popped into my dreams and wouldn't leave. So ...

yeah...

SFTR


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